Don't Go Without Me
by BelieveInHeroes
Summary: Life wasn't easy after Sherlock faked his own death. John Watson hadn't taken the death of his only friend easily. But now that Sherlock was back could things really go back to the way they were before? Or would there feelings for each other stop that?


AN: Before I start on this wacky story that's more dramatic of anything I thought I'd let you all know a few things.

For starters the first chapter was me pushing through a writer's block. So don't hate on it too much! Tip and all that jazz are fine however.

Secondly, this story does have some swearing. So I guess just so you know. Oh and gay kisses. It's John and Sherlock. If you have something against gay guys maybe this isn't a story for you. Though, I'm not pushing you away. It's smut or anything. No sex. Well so far at least. I don't write smut so yes don't worry.

ENJOY MY DARLINGS!

Empty. That was what life felt like. There was a gap left in John Watson's life and there was nothing that could fix it, nothing but Sherlock Holmes. That was where the problem was. John's only friend had killed himself over two years ago.

Nothing in the man's life was right anymore. John had grown apart from everyone. He lost sleep. He spent most of the time at his windows looking blankly at the sky. Work was a pain. Eating was a pain. Getting up in the morning was a pain. Sometimes John would find himself crying.

The worst part of these two years wasn't really the confusion or the pain, but, instead when John Watson was hit with the reality that he might just be in love with Sherlock Holmes.

John didn't live in Baker Street anymore. He hadn't sold the flat or anything. Watson just couldn't bring himself to even walk onto Baker Street anymore. There were just too many things to remind him of Sherlock.

The curtains lay against his back. The old arm chair had been pushed across the floor to the window that looked onto London's busy streets. John Hamish Watson sat with his hands supporting his head. Today was two years, six months, and seven days after Sherlock's death. It also just happened to be John's birthday as well. Why he kept track of the days since Sherlock died was a mystery even to him.

Birthdays were supposed to be great celebrations but not John's, and most defiantly not this birthday. It was going to be the same old shit he went through every other day.

The man yawned and rubbed his blood shot eyes. He stood up slowly, using the chair for support. About a month after Sherlock's death John found himself limping again. This time however, his limp was far worse.

A little ring came from the kitchen. John growled angrily. Damn phone.

"Hello," he grumbled.

"John darling, I thought I'd wish you a happy birthday," the sweet light voice of Ms. Hudson replied.

"Happy?" John scoffed. "I wouldn't consider it to be happy."

"I was wondering," the woman began, "If I could come over tonight, only if you aren't busy of course."

"I guess you could," John replied.

"Great, I'll be over around seven," Hudson chirped happily and then the phone fell silent.

His knees gave in. John just couldn't hold himself up any longer. The broken man slid down to the floor, back up against the wall. The phone slipped out from in between his finger and came crashing to the floor.

Tears bubbled in Watson's eyes. He just couldn't stop himself. In a split second tears were running down his pale cheeks. He curled up, buried his face in his arms, and cried.

By five, John just couldn't sit around any longer. He put on his jacket, one of Sherlock's scarfs, his shoes, grabbed his cane, and went outside.

It smelt like death and rain. John hobbled slowly down the graveyard's gravel path. He hadn't even thought to bring an umbrella so he was soaked to the bone in London's spring rain.

John had visited the graveyard so many times he knew the place like the back of his hand.

17 more steps until he was half way to his best friend's final resting spot. In 20 more steps he would be able to see Sherlock's gravestone. Why he counted the steps was a mystery to even John.

Through the fog and the rain John could make out the outline of a tall thing man standing by Sherlock's grave. Damn reporters, John thought. Are they ever just going to move on? Now feeling angry the man hobbled faster towards the grave.

"Hey you!" he yelled out. "What do you think…?" John froze. His mouth moved trying to form words. Finally he made out a single word. "No."

"Hello John," a familiar low voice greeted.

"No," Watson said again. He was going crazy; there was no other explanation for this. This was finally the moment where he lost his mind. Sherlock couldn't be there. He was dead. John had watched him plummet towards the ground. But there the man stood, as real and alive as John was. A smug smile stretched across Sherlock's face.

The cane hit the ground first. Then John found himself too on the muddy earth, his hands griping into the mushy soil underneath him. Tears once again came rushing down his cheeks. So he knelt on the muddy ground crying so hard not even the heavy rain could hide his tears.

"John," the man's voice said softly and hand was placed on his back. John just moved away. What did Sherlock think John was going to do? Forgive him just like that because that wasn't going to happen.

He got up from the ground. John's hands and knees were caked in mud. Sherlock looked confused. It just pissed John off more. The army doctor moved quickly as he threw the first punch at his best friends face.

"What the hell Sherlock," he screamed throwing another punch. "You're a bastard you know that. These past two years have been a living hell. Don't think you think you can just waltz back into my life," John continued.

Sherlock just stood there taking every punch. His nose was now broken and bleeding. Purple bruises were staring to form on his face.

John's hands fell to his sides, not only where his hands covered in mud but also had splatters of Sherlock's red blood.

"John I'm s," Holmes began. However, he was interrupted by John's body coming in contact with his own. Before Sherlock knew it he was pulled into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry John. I'm so sorry," the man sniffled loudly. What was this? Was he really crying? Or was it simply the blood tickling his face.

"I am too," John replied in-between sobs.

"Don't be," Sherlock said.

Both men stood clinging to one another in the pouring rain, crying into one another's shoulders.

It was luck that Sherlock and John had made it back to the dirty little apartment before Ms. Hudson had arrived. Both men had decided to surprise the landlady. Sherlock would move back into Baker Street and John would join him in the next week. They'd work to clear his name and try to start their normal life again.

The landlady had arrived before Sherlock and John could change out of there soaking wet clothes or wash the mud and blood off their bodies.

John was the one to open the door. The little lady looked at him and gasped.

"What has happened to you John? You look terrible!"

John smiled for the first time in a long while. "You can blame him," he explained. Ms. Hudson looked confused.

"I didn't punch myself so you should take some of the blame for this," Sherlock added and walked over to John. Ms. Hudson's eyes widened.

"B-But?" she began but Sherlock had cut her off.

"I'm supposed to be dead?"

Ms. Hudson left late that night after celebrating as John said 'the best birthday ever.' Sherlock however hadn't left yet. Hours flew by and before the two men knew it the clock in John's bedroom rang out telling them it was 7:30am.

"I better get going," Sherlock yawned and slowly got up from the arm chair that had finally been pushed away from the window.

"You know you don't have to," John said softly. He felt a sudden wave of disappointment.

"Well if you'd like me to stay," Sherlock smiled.

By eight thirty the two men had fallen sound asleep. John's head was resting on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock's head was resting on John's own head. Their fingers loosely tangled together.

221B Baker Street was almost exactly how Sherlock and John had left it. Everything was in the exact same place except for body parts and food which Ms. Hudson had cleared way.

Sherlock had made himself comfortable the second he entered the old flat. John couldn't wait to move back in.

Life for John Watson wasn't such a pain anymore. It had once again turned back into a gift, this time, John made every second he spent with Sherlock Holmes count.


End file.
